


Heaven's Not Enough

by AndyAO3



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Feels, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: By all rights, an idyllic little town like this shouldn't give anyone reason to be depressed. But Shane's always been a bit of an overachiever in that regard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CW: suicidal ideation, depression, general misery. Rated for all of that. You've been warned.
> 
> The Stardew Valley tags seemed like they needed some Shane feels. Also Ted. He's mine. He's a manic little disabled albino shithead and I love him.
> 
> I felt like there should be an option to yell at Marnie for being useless in one of Shane's cutscenes, because. Well. Because she's not helping, tbh. Did anyone else feel like that option was necessary? Ghhh.

On the floor of his room, leaned back against the side of the bed. Cross-legged, surrounded by beer cans that were varying degrees of empty. It was the worst bout Shane had been through in months, but right then he wasn't really thinking about how bad it was. Right then, he was just wishing he was dead. That's how it worked, really; it wasn't Better or Worse in a way that was identifiable in the moment. He just wanted very much to not exist, for many reasons that seemed perfectly legitimate to him.

Marnie came in, at one point. She tried to take him by the shoulders and shake him to get him to move or respond, but he didn't. Too much effort to do anything other than say what he was thinking-- and to say what he was thinking would scare her worse. Apologizing, too, would be redundant, and he knew what she'd say in response besides. Nothing he hadn't heard before a thousand times over. Nothing that would do anything but make him more miserably aware of everything in a way that even the drinking couldn't shake.

He was so tired.

Footsteps down the hall, hushed voices. _He's your friend, can't you do something?_ Shane scoffed, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the beer in his hand. Bullshit. He didn't have any friends.

The door opened. Shane didn't look up, didn't open his eyes. Marnie's voice filtered through the static fuzz in his head. "He's been like this for hours," she said. Shane could imagine her wringing her hands as she spoke, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "I don't know what to do, he's just--"

"I'll handle it," came a second voice. The new farmer-- Ted, his name was. His voice lacked its usual cheer, taking on a grim undertone. Because of Shane? Yet another person who deserved an apology.

Footsteps on hardwood came closer, crossing the room. There was the shuffle of cloth, creaking joints, the soft sounds of someone settling down next to where Shane sat. The hand on his cheek was unexpected, startling him with chilly fingers. Shane made a noise, cracked his eyes open to glare halfheartedly.

He was met with pale lashes, colorless eyes, white hair fanning out over a sunburn-pink forehead. A smile, soft and gentle enough to prompt a frown from Shane-- why was Ted smiling at him? "Hey." No babbling or chatter to fill space, quiet enough to be jarring in comparison to what Shane knew.

Was this all for him? Shane grumbled, turning his head away, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to look; the hand on his cheek fell to his shoulder, feather-light. "Go 'way," he murmured. He wanted Ted to stop looking at him like that, like he deserved effort or kindness at all when he didn't. Like he was something special, when he wasn't.

Ted chuckled. "'Fraid I can't do that, buddy," he said. "Looks like you're stuck with me."

"S'my room," Shane slurred. "Out."

"Oh, Shane," Marnie cooed from the doorway. Shane rolled his eyes and shifted enough to glare blearily at her; beside him, Ted stiffened, the smile disappearing.

"You too," Shane told her. It took most of the energy he had to lift his hand, gesturing with the beer can in his hands. "Out."

She looked like she was about to cry. "Why do you keep doing this?" she pleaded. "This is no way to live, Shane."

"None'f your business."

"We're family. You live here. Of course it's my business." She was upset. Shane was upsetting her. He couldn't even work up the willpower to want to apologize. A bitter part of him thought that it might even be better if she were upset. Maybe then she'd leave, and move on, and realize he wasn't worth the effort of being sad and hurt and worried for. "You have to get past this, Shane. What about your future? Are you really going to throw it all away--"

"You." Ted cut her off. He wasn't looking at her, still facing Shane; he was calm, but it was a deadly kind of calm. So tranquil, so still that it took a second for Shane to realize that the expression he was seeing was actually a kind of quiet fury. "Shut up."

Marnie balked. "But--"

"No." In a single motion, Ted stood and whipped around to face her. He was small and thin, not particularly intimidating at all, but apparently whatever look he wore when he turned was enough to make her gasp and flinch away. "Not another word."

"He's--"

" _What did I just say_." Silence. "Let me tell you something, alright? He knows everything you're about to say. That lecture you were about to go into? Don't. It isn't helping. It won't _ever_ help. I can guarantee that anyone you'd feel like giving it to probably gives it to themselves on a daily basis."

Shane stared, unable to do anything else. His chest went tight with something he couldn't quite identify, some unfamiliar emotion he couldn't place. Ted was-- standing up for him?

"I'll handle this," Ted informed her. "Alone."

For a minute Marnie simply stood in the doorway, fidgeting, glancing between Ted and Shane. She obviously wanted to say more, but Ted hadn't budged an inch and didn't seem inclined to back down. He wasn't softening his expression or being gentle and kind for her, even if doing so might help win her over. He didn't seem to want to win her over. Like for him, it had nothing to do with being diplomatic, and everything to do with fighting.

Marnie didn't understand that. She'd never had to fight like that. In the end, she left, closing the door behind her. Ted didn't relax until her footsteps had receded down the hall.

Shane continued to stare at the smaller man, eyes starting to burn with familiar wetness, throat choking up with emotion. Ted turned back to face him, kneeling again at his side. Smiling with a hint of regret. But why? That was the most anyone had done on Shane's behalf in ages.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ted told him.

Shane grit his teeth against the urge to sob, fighting against the way his chest constricted with it. "Why're you so nice t'me...?"

"'Cause someone needs to be." No, no one needed to be. No one should have to. It wasn't worth it, Shane wasn't worth any of that at all and Ted was so busy, so bright, so drained by everyone else already, he didn't need Shane's problems on top of that-- "Need help getting to the bathroom or anything?"

"Yes," Shane hiccuped, small and pathetic.

Ted smiled. "Okay." He stood and offered Shane his hand; Shane took it, marvelled for a moment at the difference between them. Ted's hands were small and cold, wiry and calloused. Shane's were big and clumsy, clammy with sweat and the condensation from many an emptied beer. It took real effort for Ted to pull Shane to his feet, but they managed. Shane needed to be supported to stay upright, and Ted didn't seem bothered in the slightest even if that had to be hard for him.

It didn't make things magically better, but it made dealing with it a little less awful.

 


End file.
